"Thought of doin' so," said Captain Moore.
Arthur threw himself into a chair—slim, clean shaved, with curly black hair and dark blue eyes, his clean-cut, clever face alive with youth and vitality.
"Tom," he said to me, "to-night you are going to see the most beautiful girl in the world."
"Hallo!" Pat shouted, "you've seen her too?"
"Seen her? Of course I have. Mother's giving the dance for her to-night."
Then I understood.
"Oh, Miss Morse?" I said.
"Jooaneeta!" said Pat in his rich, Irish voice.
"Generally pronounced 'Whanita' soft—like tropic moonlight, my old geranium," said Arthur.
"Sure, your pronunciation won't do at all, at all."